


Jittery

by rosesupposes



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Era, I'm not tagging them but there's a handful of other newsies there/ mentioned, Including some OCs and the ones we know and love, M/M, Pre-Strike, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 03:17:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20185372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesupposes/pseuds/rosesupposes
Summary: "Finch knows what the colors mean in an abstract sense. His mom had told him when he was smaller, in the way you explain things to children, and there are Manhattan newsies who have the colored swirls rather than the black smudges but he doesn't know what you actually do with a soulmate. Mort takes his girl on dates sometimes and they kiss in Jacobi's on occasion but Finch thinks all that is kind of gross."In which Finch and Spot are soulmates and there's a reason Spot Conlon makes Finch a little jittery.





	Jittery

**Author's Note:**

> Written for suddenly-im-respecsable's writing contest on tumblr. The fic had to include the following three prompts.
> 
> "I love you, but don't touch me."  
"I regret nothing."  
"Don't worry, that's just plan a."
> 
> I have no chill when it comes to Spot Conlon or Finch Cortes and that spinach/spinch post was going around tumblr so we ended up with this. Please enjoy!

_ "Finch, ya tellin’ me ya scared of Brooklyn?" _

_ "I ain't scared of no turf..." _

-

**April 1895**

Finch kind of regrets that everyone knows how fast he is. He's not as fast as Racetrack but he is fast and he's proud of it and, this time, it doesn't matter if Race is faster because he’s fast enough and, today, Finch was back at the lodging house way sooner. He'd sold a few extra papes during his morning and afternoon push so he hadn't had to sell quite as many of the evening edition. He'd had big plans of getting some extra sleep in the bunk room but he'd run into Mort and Jules in the living room and now he's on his way to Brooklyn with a note he isn't supposed to read but that needs an answer he’s supposed to bring back.

He reads it anyway, as he catches a dairy truck going across the bridge. You didn't need to be fast to run a note to Brooklyn without taking forever, Finch thought. You just needed to be smart. He doesn't think the note is all that special. It's just to set up a meeting between Jules and Georgia, Brooklyn's leader.

He finds Georgia easily enough, on the stoop of the Brooklyn lodging house. The other Manhattan boys are scared of Georgia because he's big but Finch doesn't see the point. Big doesn't mean anything if they can't catch you.

"Manhattan, ain't ya?" he asks, in a slow, deep southern drawl. 

Finch doesn't bother to wonder how Georgia knows that. "Yeah, I gots a note for ya from Mort and Jules."

"Hand it over, kid." Georgia takes the note, reads it quickly, and then scribbles a reply with a pencil from his pocket. "You can give that back to Jules. Now get outta here."

"Sure," Finch says. He pockets the note and heads back toward the Bridge. This whole errand is stupid, he decides. Jules could've just shown up and asked to see Georgia, no note needed. There's no reason Finch had to come all the way over here just to see Georgia for not even a whole minute. He could be sleeping right now. Or throwing things at Racer, who probably  _ is _ sleeping right now since he didn't have to make this stupid trip to Brooklyn.

He's just about a block from the Bridge when someone pulls him into an alleyway. Before he knows it, Finch is on his back. There's a kid maybe a couple of inches taller than him sitting on his hips and holding his hands to the ground. His right wrist feels like it's burning where the boy is touching him. He's got a paper bag slung across his torso with a handful of papes still in it- a newsie. 

"What d'you think you's doin' here, Manhattan?" The kid's Brooklyn accent is heavy and pronounced. His dark hair falls over his eyes as he glares at Finch, leaning over him.

"Leavin'," Finch says. He bucks his hips and pulls his hands from the other boy’s grasp, pushing him back and standing. He heads towards the mouth of the alley, trying to get away from the overzealous Brooklyn newsie who apparently has territorial issues. 

"Wait!" The other boy grabs his wrist again.

"Let me go, idiot." Finch turns to yell at the boy but is stopped in his tracks when he sees the other boy's whole demeanor has changed. He gestures to Finch's wrist. Over the course of his life Finch has become used to the black marks surrounding his right wrist, in the shape of a partial handprint, but now the area is covered in delicate colors, red and blue and purple swirling around his wrist. The other boy shows Finch his palm, covered in the same swirling colors. "Oh," is all Finch can say.

The boy drops Finch's hand but watches him carefully, like he's scared he might try to run again. "I's, uh, sorry 'bout tacklin' you."

"It's okay, I guess." Finch knows what the colors mean in an abstract sense. His mom had told him when he was smaller, in the way you explain things to children, and there are Manhattan newsies who have the colored swirls rather than the black smudges but he doesn't know what you actually  _ do  _ with a soulmate. Mort takes his girl on dates sometimes and they kiss in Jacobi's on occasion but Finch thinks all that is kind of gross.

"Do you wanna-" The other boy looks around, apparently just as unsure as Finch. "Do you wanna help me sell my papes?"

That's something Finch can do. “Sure. How many you got left?”

The boy checks quickly. “Just three,” he says. “The name’s Spot Conlon.”

“Finch,” he offers, smiling a little. “C’mon, ’s gettin’ late.”

When Finch shows up at the Duane Street Lodging House that night, he’s not so nearly as mad as he was when he left. He and Spot had moved the last three papes pretty fast and then they’d walked around a little longer and Spot had walked across the Brooklyn Bridge with him. It had been fun- Spot’s funny and good at selling papes- and they’d agreed to meet at the Bridge two days later. Finch had been relieved to find that Spot also thought kissing was gross and didn’t want to do it even if they were soulmates.

“Here’s ya note, Mort,” Finch says, as he crosses through the living room on the way to the bunk room. He doesn’t really think about handing the note off to Mort until someone grabs his wrist for the third time today. 

“What’s this, Finchy?” Mort is smiling at him but Finch is panicking. He and Spot had agreed not to tell anyone, just in case anyone wanted them to kiss each other, but he hadn’t thought about someone seeing the proof of his soulmate on his wrist.

“Oh. I, uh, don’t know who it is,” he says, hoping he’s convincing enough. “Someone grabbed me in a crowd, I think.”

Mort hums, but lets go of his wrist. Finch goes upstairs where Jack, Race, and Crutchie immediately notice the color splashed across Finch’s wrist. They won’t shut up about it until Mush and Blink get back and ask if they want to head to Jacobi’s to split some sandwiches. Finch tells them the same story he told Mort but more convincing this time. They all take guesses at what Finch’s soulmate might be like but Finch doesn’t think any of their ideas sound nearly as fun as Spot. He spends all of dinner tapping his heel against the floor in anticipation of their next meeting.

-

**February 1896**

Finch waits by the stable across the street from the Bridge, tapping his fingers against the building and scanning the crowd for Spot’s hat. He’s still taller than Finch but not very tall in general so it takes some looking. They haven’t seen each other in a few weeks. The snow has made it difficult to see each other during the winter months and Finch misses the summer when they could sell together at Coney, the only place it makes sense for Finch to sell in Brooklyn without giving up their secret. Finch misses his best friend. 

Eventually, he does catch Spot’s hat coming through the crowd. He ducks into the alleyway  they meet at and when Spot reaches him, they slip into the stable without a word. 

“I gots somethin’ for ya,” Spot says, pulling a little package wrapped in newspaper from his inside his coat. 

“You waste a pape on wrappin’ this?” Finch says. He takes the package and works at untying the bit of string. 

Spot shrugs. “Was eatin’ it anyway.”

“Spot! It’s a slingshot!” The paper holds a slingshot, nicer than the makeshift thing Finch had broken last month. Finch jumps up to hug Spot, knocking him off balance a little.

“Well, you was sayin’ yours broke and there’s this snotty little rich kid always pickin’ on Sonny-”

Finch pulls away. “You stole this?” Spot nods. “Don’ do that! You need to be careful with Snyder around. Jack got caught last week!” Finch knows it sounds ridiculous coming from him, the kid who can’t sit still once he thinks he knows what’s best, but he needs to say it anyway.

Spot gets a little paler. “Cowboy’s in the Refuge?” He crosses his arms suddenly. “Well, it don’ matter. I regret nothin’. ’S for you.”

Finch wants to argue but arguing with Spot is often a pointless activity. Instead, he pulls a penny from his pocket and uses his new slingshot to shoot it at Spot’s chest. “Thanks, Spotty. Bet I can hit more targets than you.” Finch finds a pebble from the ground and shoots it at the broken lock on the door they came through and then offers it to Spot. 

Spot grumbles. “We’s already known that.” He takes the slingshot anyway.

-

**June 1897**

Finch had been surprised when, on his birthday, Spot had hunted him down in Manhattan to wish him happy birthday and tell him he had a surprise planned in a couple weeks. He's delighted to learn two weeks later that Spot's planned a picnic for them at a park along the river. He's got a basket and everything. 

It's a Sunday morning and they've got some time before they have to pick up the afternoon edition. They're walking to the part of the park that Spot has apparently picked out for their picnic, Spot pulling Finch along with his hand on his wrist, so their soulmarks are touching, when Spot abruptly veers from his path and pulls Finch with him behind a tree. Spot pushes Finch against the tree, which makes the inches Finch has recently gained on Spot very clear. Spot is very close as he peeks around the tree to see if whatever had spooked him is still there.

"What's wrong with you?" Finch asks, as Spot pushes him harder into the tree, probably without realizing. Finch's gain in height had come with Spot's gain in muscle mass.

"Shut up," Spot hisses. "It's Hotshot and Myron."

"Shit."

Spot is still peeking around the tree. Finch finds himself watching his lips. "Don't worry. This place is just plan A. I's got another place we can go."

"Prepared," Finch says, distractedly, tapping his fingers absently against Spot’s hand.

"'s what I's known for," Spot says, smirking. He pulls back from Finch and sits on the ground behind the tree, positioning himself so he could still keep an eye on Hotshot and Myron. "I think we can wait 'em out."

Finch sits with him. "No plan B?"

"There’s a plan B, we's just gonna stick to the first plan. 'S better and they's leavin'."

Finch is quiet for a minute as Spot gives him updates on Myron and Hotshot leaving the park. He's not really paying attention but he does find his eyes drawn back to Spot's lips. He wants to kiss him, he realizes suddenly. "Spot," he says, interrupting whatever Spot had been about to say about the other two boys. "You remember when we met and we didn' wanna kiss cuz it was gross even though we's soulmates?"

Spot turns abruptly to look at Finch. "Yeah."

"Do you still think kissin' is gross?"

Spot shrugs and his eyes flash. "Why?"

Finch looks down to his lap, where he's playing with his slingshot. "Just been thinkin' 'bout it,” he says, even though it just occurred to him. “The boys is talkin’ about it a lot more. Specs found his girl and they’s been kissing in Jacobi’s.”

"Do you wanna?"

"Kiss?" Finch asks and looks up at Spot, who is looking back at him intensely.

"Yeah." Spot shrugs. "If you don' think it's gross."

"It can' be too bad if Specs is doin' it."

Spot moves closer to him and Finch nods. As Spot kisses him, Finch doesn't know if he likes it but it's nice. It's a little weird but it's not gross and it feels right. It's a little confusing. It's not long. When Spot backs off, they grin at each other.

"Not gross?" Finch asks.

"Not gross," Spot confirms. He peeks around the tree and grabs Finch's wrist. "C'mon, they's gone."

"This picnic better be worth hidin' behind a tree for."

Spot pushes Finch's shoulder. "You doubtin' me?"

-

**December 1898**

Finch watches Spot as they enter the room, a tiny thing for rent above a bar near the river. For some reason, he’s nervous Spot won’t like it. Spot's face is harder somehow. He's lost some of the baby fat from it and he smiles less often and less openly than he used to. Finch doesn't like it and he especially doesn't like the look of the black eye Spot's got now. 

Spot's eyes light up at the sight of the room. "This’s swell." Spot turns to Finch. “’s ours?"

"For the whole night," Finch confirms, closing the door behind him.

Spot pushes up on his toes to press a chaste kiss against the corner of Finch's mouth. When he pulls away he's grinning crookedly. "How's you managin' that?"

Finch shrugs. "I know a guy who owes me a favor. Happy birthday." Finch smiles and leans down to kiss Spot.

"It's real nice."

The room isn't that nice but it will certainly do for them. It's small but more well-appointed than anything that they're used to, even if Spot sometimes pays the extra pennies for a private room at the Brooklyn lodging house. Finch is glad Spot has stopped asking about all the guys who owe him favors.

They split a sandwich that Finch brought and chat about the going ons of their boroughs. They get to see each other much less in the winter, because the bridge is harder to cross and they have no excuse to see each other while they're still hiding their relationship, so there's a lot to catch up on.

"Where'd ya get the shiner?" Finch finally asks while they're laying together on the bed, facing each other as Spot plays with the buttons on Finch's shirt. Finch moves his hand to Spot's face.

Spot freezes in the way he does when he feels cornered but before Finch can take it back and assure him he doesn't have to answer Spot says, "Georgia's leavin' the lodgin' house."

“’bout time," Finch says. "Ain't he been callin' himself 17 for three years now?"

"Yeah- think he's nearly 20 now."

"And he hit you?" Finch says, running his thumb around the edge of the bruise.

"Nah, Benny hit me cuz Georgia's leavin' me in charge."

"Leavin' you in charge?" Finch asks, a little confused.

"Yeah, like Bailey left Kelly in charge."

"But Bailey didn't leave Jack in charge?" Finch says because Jack is kind of in charge but not because of anything Bailey said or did before he moved on to factory work. "Jack's just sorta... our leader, I guess."

"Explains a lot about why you's always a mess over in Manhattan."

"Hey!" Finch protests, flicking Spot's ear even as the other boy grins at him. "We's not a mess." 

Spot presses a kiss to Finch's jawline. "Not always."

"You's askin' for another black eye," Finch teases. "So, Georgia chose you?"

Spot nods. "Yeah. Said I's gonna be the next king of Brooklyn."

"Sounds important," Finch muses.

“’s lotta boys to look after," Spot says, resolutely avoiding Finch's gaze and playing with his buttons again.

"You's gonna be a good king, Spot," Finch assures. "You's so good with those boys." Spot shrugs and Finch decides it's time to stop pushing. "You gonna get a lotta those shiners? Thought you were better in a fight than that."

"Oh, you know I am," Spot says, grinning. "You should see what Benny looks like."

They talk a little while longer until Spot falls asleep. Finch watches him sleep, his face so much more peaceful and open. Finch loves that he gets to give Spot this night, real rest in a real bed, especially now that he knows Spot feels like he's under pressure. 

Finch loves Spot. It's not a new realization- he's been thinking about it a lot recently. He wants to tell Spot but he's not sure he should. He wants to say he wouldn’t care if Spot said it back because it wouldn't change how Finch feels but that’s not true. He’s scared Spot won’t say it back or, worse, won’t say anything. The mark on his wrist and it's complement on Spot's palm say they're perfect for each other but Finch knows that doesn't always mean enough. Finch wants it to. What if they never got to be what Finch wanted them to be?

It's probably the only thing in his life Finch has thought through so thoroughly. He’s not good at waiting for the circulation gate to open and he’s not good at waiting to act once he knows his own mind. He gets up to blow out the lamp and then climbs into bed and pulls Spot close, links their hands, and rubs his thumb over Spot’s.  _ Soon _ , he tells himself, because he wants Spot to know.  _ But not right now _ , he thinks, because he’s scared.

-

**May 1899**

Finch wakes up achy and tired with the morning bell. He vaguely remembers yesterday- the fight, Buttons getting him back to the lodge, Kenny tending to him throughout the day- but he thinks he was only conscious four or five times, all before the rest of the boys got back from selling.

“Go back to sleep, Finch,” Racer says to him as he climbs down from the top of the bunk- the bunk where Finch should be. 

“I gotta sell-” Finch tries to sit up but his ribs hurt and he doesn’t get very far before Race pushes his shoulder back down. 

“We’s got you today.”

“But last night-”

“We’s got you, Finch. Go back to sleep.”

Finch tries to block out the sunlight with his arm. “You’s all too loud.”

Race laughs. “You ain’t wrong.” Race feels Finch’s forehead and smooths down his hair. “Sleep. For real.”

Despite the clamor of the lodging house, Finch does manage to go back to sleep. It’s only a few hours but when he wakes up he feels much better than he did yesterday. His head isn’t pounding and his lungs don’t feel so heavy. He tries to sit up but finds his lungs don’t like that and his right wrist can’t take any weight. The pain is sharp and stabbing and Finch thinks it might be broken. He assumes Kenny is the one who set it and it seems like he did a good job but it still hurts like hell. The bandages cover most of his soulmark.

He spends the next couple of hours laying in bed and getting mad because honestly-  _ what the fuck, Spot Conlon? _ He’s seething by the time one of the littles brings him a roll to eat.  _ What the fuck? _

All Finch had done was show up at Coney Island to sell and hopefully spend some time with Spot. Instead, he’d gotten soaked by three or four of the Brooklyn boys saying that Spot had declared Brooklyn off limits to any of the other boroughs and that they’d been sent to clear our Coney.

_ Fine, _ Finch thinks, bitterly. If Spot doesn’t want other boroughs in his territory- if he wants to give up his only excuse for seeing Finch without hiding- that’s fine. Finch doesn’t need Coney to sell well and he certainly doesn’t need Spot Conlon.

He thinks it’s probably about noon when he hears the window by the fire escape slide open. He’s propped up in bed, reading one of Jack’s cheap cowboy novels- brought to him by JoJo, who had stayed behind to help Kloppman clean and watch over Finch- and he doesn’t bother to look at whoever it is forgot whatever it is at the lodging house.

“Finch-”

Finch turns to see Spot. Finch is no less angry after several hours of stewing but he doesn’t want to draw attention to Spot when there are other boys in the lodging house- JoJo’s just in the bathroom at the end of the bunk room, cleaning the floors- and the Industrial School is in session so he just turns back to his book and says, “Go away.”

“You have to let me explain. I came soon’s I could after Bart told me what happened at Coney.”

“I already gots an explanation. Came with a fist or six.”

“Finch, I’s sorry-” Spot moves to the bed, hand reaching for Finch’s bandaged wrist, to touch his soulmark over Finch’s, even though it’s covered.

“Don’t touch me,” Finch says, pulling his arm away and glaring at Spot. “I love you but don’t touch me.”

It’s a terrible time to say it but it’s what’s been running through Finch’s brain all morning. He loves Spot and he had thought Spot loved him too, even though they’d never said it to each other. It had seemed too big and momentous for Finch to say to Spot but now he just hopes it hurts.

“You love me?”

“Nah, I’s been headin’ across the bridge once a week for four years because I hate ya. Go away, Spot.”

Spot looks devastated. “I-”

“I don’ wanna hear it. You’s the one sendin’ boys to Coney to soak other newsies.”

“I had to do it,” Spot says, sounding desperate. “The other boroughs are makin’ it hard for my kids. I’s just protectin’ my territory.”

“Coney’s never been just Brooklyn’s. If you wanna give up the only place we don’ gotta worry ’bout bein’ seen together, that’s not my call.” Finch was feeling better but now he feels like he needs to sleep again. “Please leave.”

“Finch, you gotta let me explain-”

“I don’ gotta let you do anything,” Finch says before he raises his voice and shouts for JoJo, even though it might piss Kloppman off. He turns back to Spot. “Better get outta here before JoJo sees ya.”

“Comin’, Finch!” JoJo calls back.

Spot’s eyes widen and he dashes back to the window. He looks back at Finch as he climbs through it. “I love you too, Finch.”

Finch wants to pretend he doesn’t hear it. Instead, he picks up Jack’s book and pretends to start reading again. “Bye, Spot.”

Spot is through the window and down the fire escape before JoJo makes it halfway across the bunk room. “Ya need somethin’?” he asks when he reaches Finch.

“Could ya get me some water? I’s thirsty as a horse.”

JoJo laughs. “Sure thing. Just wait one minute.”

“Thanks, JoJo.”

And Finch is alone again. He goes back to the novel while he waits for JoJo, tapping his finger against the spine as he reads.

-

_ “But that Spot Conlon gets me a little jittery.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at makenomistakeoncewewin.


End file.
